


Covalence

by AnotherSpoonyBard



Series: Chaos Theory [8]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chaos Theory AU, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7587403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherSpoonyBard/pseuds/AnotherSpoonyBard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A covalent bond is one in which atoms share electrons, enabling each to reach a state of stability, with a full outer shell. </p><p>In which Karin, Uryū, and Yuzu get by with a little help from their friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer Pear Tree

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small one-shot collection set in the _Chaos Theory_ AU. It is best read after _The Uncertainty Principle_ , as some parts of that, plus earlier stories, will be referenced in these ones. Each chapter is a snippet of daily life for one of the three characters in the summary. 
> 
> Chapter One is Karin's, and contains a little bit of Soul Society philosophy re: interpersonal relationships between shinigami.
> 
> Chapter Two is Uryū's, and includes a much-needed conversation between he and Rukia.
> 
> Chapter Three is Yuzu's, and touches on the unique duties of her Ninth Seat position in the Fourth Division.

Karin slept on the side of the barracks that allowed predawn light to filter in through her window. She had initially resented this fact, but eventually she’d learned to embrace it. Being up first meant all the water was still hot, and she could eat breakfast without having to stand in line for it. 

Still, it _did_ mean getting up annoyingly early in the morning. 

“Ugh.” She rolled over on her futon, scrubbing both hands down her face. The stupid birds that lived in the tree outside her window were chirping obnoxiously. There was no hope of falling back asleep for even a few more minutes now. Throwing her blanket off herself, she flinched at the sudden cold—October was _not_ her favorite month. Winter would be here pretty soon. 

Fortunately, being eighth seat meant getting her own room in the barracks, and a decently-sized one at that. So no one cared that she slept in a ratty old living world tee shirt and shorts, or bothered her about the fact that she _sometimes_ didn’t put her laundry away when the Fourth brought a clean stack by. 

Speaking of which… she grabbed the kosode off the back of her desk chair and sniffed it. Nope. Giving it a toss into the hamper near the door, she stumbled over to her closet and pulled the door open, blinking at her half-dozen identical uniforms without enthusiasm. Black on white. Not even the cool sleeveless ones the Ninth had—Renji had neglected to mention that detail when she was deciding between divisions. 

It wouldn’t have _actually_ made a difference, but she made a note to rib him for it later anyway. 

Even better than having her own sleeping quarters, being an officer above tenth seat meant she got her own bathroom. Just a small one, nothing fancy, but she didn’t have to share it. Karin had only realized after moving into the barracks that sharing things with Yuzu in childhood had not actually prepared her to share them with strangers. For one, Yuzu was clean. For two, she wasn’t an idiot. 

Night and day from some of the numbskulls around here. 

Karin didn’t feel quite human—well, whatever—until she was scrubbing a towel through her wet hair. She hated it when the water soaked into her uniform collar, so she pulled it up into a decent-looking ponytail and swished it around a few times before pulling on her shitagi. 

The last thing to go on was her red silk sash, with the big fat Quincy cross on it that most people didn’t recognize. She wasn’t sure she’d ever _tell_ Uryū, but wearing it around the Seiretei gave her a perverse kind of satisfaction. It helped that it was so obviously _not_ a regulation item. Usually the only people who got away with that were vice-captains, captains, or in the Eleventh Division where no one gave a shit. 

Kuchiki had never said anything to her about it, though. 

Attaching Hisaku to the strings on the sash, Karin brushed her fingers over the katana’s tsuka. The warmth was familiar by now. 

Now for one of the fun parts of her day. 

Sliding her door open and stepping out into the hall, Karin checked the clock on the wall to confirm the time, then took in a deep breath. 

“All right! Up and at ‘em, slackers! Those drills aren’t going to practice themselves!” She banged the side of her fist on each door as she passed down the hallway. “Look alive, Sixth Division! Don’t wanna get chewed by the fukutaichō, do you?”

As the officer in this hallway, she was responsible for waking up the rest of them for drills, which she did not have to attend. Well… responsible might have been a stretch. She could let them be late. But they were her direct subordinates, and she didn’t want them to make her look bad. Not in a division where the captain actually took personnel reviews seriously. 

She grinned—if only to herself—at the chorus of thuds, curses, and groans that reached her through the doors. “Quit your complaining! It wouldn’t suck so much if you were up earlier by yourselves!” 

Shaking her head, she headed to the mess to grab breakfast, then to her office. She did have to share that—only Renji and Kuchiki had office space to themselves. Karin shared with the ninth seat, a girl named Mihane. She was quiet and serious for the most part—at least that made it easy to get work done. 

“Oy, Kurosaki.” 

Karin glanced up, abandoning her effort to find her office key on the ring. She’d known it was Renji, obviously; she still grinned at her vice-captain nevertheless. “Morning, monkey-brain.” 

He rolled his eyes and scowled at her. By this point, it had the air of mere rote. “We good for soccer practice tomorrow?”

Karin nodded. “Yeah. You found us a goalie yet?”

“I think one of the twentieth seats is gonna do it—Kanda.” 

“The guy with the mustache? He might be all right.” Pretty much no one in Soul Society knew the rules of soccer, and so far, their division was the only one with even close to a full team, but apparently the Seventh was interested, and Renji swore they could get the Eleventh involved if they sold it right. 

“Yeah. Anyway, don’t forget the forms for your review. Kuchiki-taichō wants them by this afternoon.”

Karin arched a brow. “You mean he’s actually going to be _here_ this afternoon? I thought you said he leaves.”

Renji shrugged. “He does, but not when there’s other work to do. Just try getting them in before noon. I’m gonna go collect the testimonials from your team, so it’s better if they all go in at around the same time.” 

Two years seemed like a pretty short window before her first review, by Soul Society standards, but Karin wasn’t worried. Her team liked her, and she did her crap on time and without needing to go back and correct it. She already taught the beginner zanjutsu drills for the squad, too, so it wasn’t like anyone could say she wasn’t working hard enough. 

“Yeah, all right.”

He nodded, she mock-saluted, and they parted ways. 

Mihane was already in the office, so Karin didn’t need her key after all. 

“Morning, Shirogane-san,” she said, plopping herself into her desk chair and eyeing her stack of paperwork. 

“Good morning, Kurosaki-san,” Mihane replied amiably, pausing in her steady writing for only a moment before she resumed. 

With a sigh, Karin went fishing for her review forms. It wasn’t a huge stack—there was basically one where she filled out what her duties were plus any extra stuff she’d taken on, and then the questionnaire. That stuff combined with the opinions of her team and her officers was pretty much it. 

Well, she’d better get started.

* * *

“Kurosaki-kun.” 

Taking the captain’s bland acknowledgement as permission, Karin stepped over the threshold into his office. Aside from the bookshelves on either side, it was pretty minimalist—and really freaking clean. Probably even dust was scared shitless of the captain; it wouldn’t surprise her. Lots of _people_ were, after all. Karin wasn’t afraid, really, but she also knew better than to be casual with him like she was with Renji.

“Kuchiki-taichō,” she said, bowing. “I brought my review forms.”

He inclined his head, extending a hand to receive them. Once she’d handed them over, he set them aside, folding his hands atop his desk. “How do you find the division, Kurosaki-kun?”

“…sir?” Karin let her confusion show on her face. 

He blinked at her. “Its character. Do you find it… suitable?”

Karin furrowed her brows and crossed her arms. Was this some kind of test or something? “I think the division’s just fine, sir. We do our work, we’re willing to help each other out, and we can take things seriously when we have to. No one slacks off in my class, and no one gets pissy because their superior officer is a girl, so I have no complaints.”

A tiny line appeared in the spot between Kuchiki’s eyebrows—probably her language had done that. Not like she cared; Karin respected her captain, and showed that in the ways that mattered, but she didn’t try to change who she was. 

“I see,” he replied. 

He didn’t dismiss her; she was left to shift her weight from foot to foot and wonder what else he could possibly want. He read through her forms right there, carefully scanning each page before turning to the next with a soft rustle. Karin wasn’t normally one to get nervous, but there was something damn off-putting about this. 

“Sixth Seat Ajibana has informed me that he will likely be retiring within the year,” Kuchiki said. “When the time comes, I suggest you apply to take the position, if you find the division to be as agreeable as you say.” 

Karin’s brows headed towards her hairline. Had he just implied that he’d promote her if she wanted it? Hell, she’d already jumped ten seats in one shot within two years; she thought she’d be stuck at eighth seat for another decade or so. 

“Your work in the Hell incident was by all accounts impressive,” her captain continued—either oblivious to her surprise or choosing to ignore it. “Of course, I cannot promote you on the basis of something that did not happen. But if the reports of your subordinates are as I expect them to be, that should not be an issue.”

He lifted his eyes to her then. “You are dismissed, Kurosaki-kun.”

“Uh… sure. Yes, sir.” Karin shook her head; bowing a second time, she left his office behind. 

Sixth seat, huh? She kinda liked the idea of that.

* * *

Karin sighed—more from satisfaction than anything—and flopped back onto the grass. Yuzu made a damn good bento. Enough to feed three people, too, which was good since the monkey tended to mooch. 

He snorted at her from the left, but she was too content to care just now. 

“So Kuchiki-taichō said I should apply for sixth seat,” she said, folding her hands behind her head. 

“I know,” he replied. “He asked me about it a few days ago.”

She tilted her head so she could look at him from the corner of an eye. “You’re not fast-tracking me because we’re friends, are you?” 

He frowned at her, unfolding his legs in front of him and leaning back on his hands. “Like hell I am. You think I’d risk my career to jump you a few seats? We’re friends, kid, but I ain’t an idiot. You’re moving up because you deserve to.”

“Good.” Karin nodded, satisfied. 

Watching the clouds pass by overhead, Karin decided that they probably wouldn’t be able to take lunch outside much longer before it got too cold. Her dad was already talking about how this winter was going to be a really bad one—apparently a temperate summer was a sure sign or something. Karin couldn’t say she bought his so-called logic; she’d sensed a chill in the air earlier than usual all the same. 

“So when do you think all this Aizen stuff is gonna come back to bite us in the ass?” she asked suddenly. 

Renji sighed. “I dunno. It’s been almost five years. That’s only half what they said, but… it kinda feels like something’s about to happen, doesn’t it?”

Karin rolled her eyes. “It always feels like that.” 

He grunted in reply. 

“Still, I mean… I wouldn’t say no to another few years to train, but… it kinda feels like something around here’s gonna snap if we don’t have something to do soon.” She pulled one of her legs up, planting her foot flat against the hillside. 

“How’s the training going, anyway?”

Karin pursed her lips. “Decent, I guess. I’m working on another shikai technique, but it’s a pain. Especially when no one except you will train with me.” 

Uryū probably would, but the Eighth was still busier than most divisions; the fact that he managed to eat dinner with her and Yuzu most nights was a small miracle. Yuzu didn’t have as much flexibility about her duties; she had to follow Unohana around all shift every day, basically. The rest of the Sixth’s seated officers weren’t too excited about the possibility of burns—she trained against them only with Hisaku sealed. Most people didn’t have shikai anyway; it was only a _requirement_ for tenth and above.

Renji scratched his chin. “So basically you need someone who’s fine with you trying to fry ‘em, right? Besides me.”

She huffed a laugh. “Basically.” 

“I think I know a guy.”

* * *

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of Yumichika. Ikkaku wasn’t that hard to figure out—he was basically every Eleventh Division stereotype she’d ever heard of shoved into one body. But something about Yumichika was sly—like he knew more than one thing he wasn’t saying. 

Regardless, it was the other one she was going to fight, so it probably didn’t make much difference. Ikkaku was a bald guy with a sharp face, though Renji had told her it was probably better if she just didn’t mention the bald part. Apparently, he was strong even by third seat standards, but didn’t really have any snobbishness about it—he’d fight anyone who promised to be entertaining. Most importantly, he wouldn’t hold back—not because she was young, not because she was a girl, and not because it was only a spar. 

Karin worked on her techniques as often as she could. But if her time in Hell had taught her anything, it was that they didn’t always _click_ until she needed them to. So this arrangement was pretty much perfect, risk of grievous injury included. 

They took their places in the ring, bowing. Neither wasted any time with sealed zanpakutō—both she and Ikkaku went right for shikai. His was a spear of some kind, it looked like. Definitely a reach advantage, at least in terms of the weapon alone. Karin used _Sakebe_ right off the bat, lighting Hisaku on fire. Having the flames already there would save her the time of creating them. 

She stepped into _shunpō_. Her attempt to strike Ikkaku’s shoulder was stopped cold by the spear-pole, and she had to hurry to get out of the way of his retaliation. 

He was even more aggressive than Karin typically was in a fight, and faster than he looked. She didn’t even sense him appear behind her until she felt a physical disturbance in the air. Sidestepping quickly, she just barely avoided being stabbed in the guts by the point of the zanpakutō. Karin hissed when it cut across her thigh instead, long but shallow. 

Karin disengaged and flashed away. Ikkaku followed. She saw the crooked grin stretching his face and wondered if maybe she wasn’t in too far over her head after all. 

But of course not. Renji wouldn’t have suggested this if he didn’t think she could manage. Besides, she’d _just_ been thinking that she needed more pressure. Trying not to get impaled definitely qualified. 

Ikkaku swung again; Karin met the spear with Hisaku, using _Aoge_ to throw fire point-blank at his face—like she’d done with Shuren. To her surprise, the pole of the spear snapped in half; Ikkaku lifted the bottom end with the red fur thing to sweep away the fire before it reached him. It had _pieces_?

Well, shit.

Now that the cat was out of the bag on that one, Ikkaku didn’t bother trying to hide it. “Quit… _running_!” he shouted, lashing forward with the bottom half of his weapon; he was trying to tangle her feet with the chains connecting the segments. 

_Just a little more…_

Karin was pushing her _shunpō_ to the limit just trying to stay ahead of him. She needed an advantage—distance wasn’t it, strength wasn’t it. So she had to be faster. 

The spear-point came flying for her; Karin ducked in just enough time to hear it whistle past over her head. A short, sharp tug at the end of her ponytail gave away that not all her hair had survived. Talk about a close call. She slashed twice with Hisaku, hurling a double-dose of fire at Ikkaku. 

He cut right through the first one—but she’d packed more reiatsu into the second, and he had to get out of the way. The sleeve of his shihakushō caught fire; in the time it took him to put it out with his reiatsu, Karin repositioned. Throwing more fire at him from the side, she followed it in, gripping Hisaku with both hands and slashing down. 

The blade swept through nothing but air—Ikkaku had flashed away. 

Honestly, it was only the fact that he was laughing that clued her in to where the next attack was coming from. The Eleventh really was… enthusiastic. Raising Hisaku to block, Karin braced her free hand on the back side of the blade. Locked in place against a stronger opponent, she shifted her balance, giving up on the contest of strength and trying to turn it around by swinging a kick in from the side. 

She caught Ikkaku’s midsection, but not hard enough, and he jabbed her in the stomach with the blunt end of his zanpakutō. Karin’s wind left her in a rush; she doubled over. The follow-up caught her across the back, sending her flying. She landed hard a good dozen feet away, sprawled on the dirt. 

Faster, faster; she had to move _faster_ , or he was gonna end this in one more shot. 

He disappeared from her senses briefly—he was coming in for the win, she knew it. 

_Move._

The voice in her head was Hisaku’s—a command, not a suggestion. 

Karin _moved_. 

The ring’s bizzare, broken-building landscape flew by faster than she was prepared for. She hit the ground after her jump harder than she’d intended, tripping and rolling to a stop at least half again as far from Ikkaku as she’d meant to. There was a crack in the ground where she’d been seconds ago. 

_Get up._

With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet. She felt… light—like gravity mattered less than usual. Like she could spring off the ground and run on the air. It wasn’t quite the same as shunpō, though. Karin looked down at her feet. To her own surprise, they were edged in Hisaku’s red fire, formed into little wings on the outside. 

This was it. This was the technique she’d been trying to figure out for months. 

She grinned. “ _Tobase, Hisaku_.” Launching herself forward, she wheeled around behind Ikkaku and slashed. 

He blocked, but not nearly as easily as before. 

This was gonna be interesting.

* * *

“I told you I can walk, monkey,” Karin groused. She didn’t attempt to push away from Renji again though. Her feet were killing her. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He didn’t mention it. 

Beside them, Yumichika was _not_ helping Ikkaku walk. But then, most of his injuries were to his arms and torso, including the one that had ended the match—a big burn square in between his shoulder blades. 

“You sure you don’t want to join the Eleventh?” the bald man asked, rolling his shoulders. “We’ve got an open seventh seat you could probably make.”

Karin knew she hadn’t _beaten_ Ikkaku, but the acknowledgement felt pretty damn good. “Don’t you guys have some kind of rule against kidō-type zanpakutō? Elemental counts.”

Ikkaku rolled his eyes. “You honestly think Zaraki-taichō gives a flying fuck what kind of zanpakutō his subordinates have? The Eleventh is about attitude: if you love to fight, and you’re good at it, then you’re welcome to do it with us.”

Yumichika wore an unreadable look behind Ikkaku’s back; eyes slightly narrow, mouth downturned. Karin wondered if he disagreed or something. In any case, he made no comment. 

“Eh, thanks,” she said, shrugging and then regretting it when she pulled a wound. “But I like things just fine where I am.”

“Damn straight. You can’t have her, Ikkaku—I ain’t losing a forward on my team.”

Karin elbowed Renji in the ribs. “What you mean to say is I keep you sane.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now?”

Yumichika was smirking at them. Ikkaku just shook his head. Eventually, the large medical building that served as the Fourth Division hospital came into view, and they shuffled inside. 

“I fuckin’ hate it in here,” Ikkaku muttered, glaring at a knot of unseated shinigami. They flinched and made themselves scarce in very short order. 

“Ikkaku,” Yumichika said, arching a neat eyebrow. 

Ikkaku scowled, saying something else too low for Karin to hear. But he didn’t make any further fuss. 

Given that a fukutaichō was among them, it wasn’t surprising that it was Isane who came out to investigate. 

“Abarai-san. I hope you aren’t—” her eyes moved to Karin, and she blinked. “Ah, I see. Madarame-san, please come with me. Karin-san, I’ll get Yuzu-san; I believe she’s free right now.” 

Ikkaku went with Isane, if grudgingly; they disappeared around a corner. 

Yumichika settled in one of the chairs in the front room, shooting an amused look at Renji. “What did _you_ do to make poor Isane-san think you need looking after?”

“Nothing.” 

Karin raised an eyebrow at the reply. Yumichika slid his eyes to her; she shrugged. 

“Don’t look at me; I don't usually hurt him bad enough to justify a trip here.”

“Karin!” Yuzu’s voice was tinged with concern. 

She turned to her sister, still across the entranceway. “Uh… hey Yuzu. Don’t suppose you can take care of this, huh?”

Yuzu sighed. “Come on, then. Thanks for bringing her by, Abarai-san.” She smiled at him, nodding politely at Yumichika as well. “Ayasegawa-san.”

Karin followed her back to one of the exam rooms, pulling herself up onto the metal table even though her arms protested it. Her legs were a little worse off still. 

Yuzu’s mouth pursed. “Training?”

“Yeah. Finally got that new technique down; the one I’ve been working on.” Karin pulled down her kosode and shitagi; Yuzu would want to deal with the worst wound first, and that one was just above her hip. 

Her sister winced when she saw it—but her sighs were sighs of resignation, these days. “Well, that’s good. Do you think you’ve learned all the techniques for your shikai?” Yuzu’s hands lit with kidō; Karin could feel her reiatsu returning to normal levels, little by little. 

“I think so. I mean, I could still be better at using them, but at least I know what they are, now.” The gash in her abdomen itched while it closed—Yuzu was using a painkilling kaidō with the healing, but by her own admission still had some work to do to master it. 

Considering the alternative, Karin could hardly complain. 

“How about you? Any more ideas about that weird thing you did with Jinta?” 

She’d heard the story—even if she didn’t understand _exactly_ what a Hell Chain was, being able to get rid of one was clearly important. It was what those rebel guys had wanted in the first place. Even if Amari had said it wouldn’t actually free them. 

Yuzu frowned. “Not really. Unohana-taichō is helping, but it’s…” She trailed off, moving to Karin’s next injury. 

“Hm. Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.” 

That got a smile out of her, at least. “Of course, Karin.”

* * *

Renji was still waiting for her when she left the hospital room, so they decided to go back to the Sixth. Karin still had a few hours before dinner, and doing her review paperwork that morning meant she had more to get to between now and then. 

The Seireitei was honestly a massive place; most of the Divisions were located close in towards the center. Because of that, she sometimes forgot just how much open space and stuff there was inside the walls. Towards the outside, where the nobles had their estates, there were even forests. But she spent so much of her life these days in such a small piece of it. 

Not that she’s wandered around much living in the Rukongai either; but at least the people out there were a little more… diverse, compared to one another. In here, it was soldiers and nobles and their staff. That was about it. It was also mostly men, come to think of it. 

“Do Ikkaku and Yumichika have a thing?” she asked abruptly.

Renji didn’t seem surprised by the question, exactly. “A thing?”

“Yeah. You know, are they involved, or whatever you wanna call it?” She hesitated to use the word love, because it had so many meanings. For all she knew, it might not even be what they called the thing. 

He nodded. “Kind of. They’re complicated.” A pause; he continued slowly. “Do you think it’s weird?” 

Karin pressed her mouth into a line. “Only because no one talks about it.” He probably meant the fact that they were both men; Renji knew she was ‘from’ the living world, where opinions on that kind of thing… _varied_. Karin couldn’t have cared less if she tried. “In general, I mean. Not just them. Like… almost no one here is married, or even seeing anyone. Or has kids. Most people in the Rukongai do eventually.” Most of them couldn’t shut up about those parts of life, even.

Renji relaxed slightly. Lifting his arms, he folded his hands behind his head. “You’re not wrong,” he said, exhaling from his nose. “It’s especially uncommon in the upper ranks. I only know of a few seated officers who are or have been married or whatever. Kuchiki-taichō was, before I met him, but nobles are different. It’s also easier if the other person’s a civilian.”

“I don’t get it,” Karin said. “I mean, it’s not like I think people should be focusing on that crap when there’s a war coming or whatever, but I guess… I still thought some of them _would_ be, you know?”

“Most people are afraid to be involved that way,” Renji replied. “It’s discouraged. The Sōtaichō believes that the way to be the most effective soldier is to harden your heart. It’s not illegal to date or get married or whatever. And believe me, _plenty_ of people are, uh, ‘involved.’ But anything that could screw with your loyalties or priorities or willingness to follow your orders…” 

“That’s complete bullshit,” Karin said, crossing her arms as she walked. “By that standard, my loyalties are already screwy—I _told_ everyone that in my stupid interview!” She’d straight-out said that her family was the most important thing in the world to her. It didn’t get any less ‘division-first’ than that. “Kuchiki knows, and he still promoted me.”

“Yeah, well… not everyone agrees with the Sōtaichō, you know. But some kinds of disagreeing are seen as worse than others. Usually if you want to get married and have kids, you retire—and you hope that you’re not dangerous enough that the Onmitsukidō drags you off to the Maggots’ Nest later.” Renji’s mouth twisted. “But if you’re smart, you’ll keep anything like that under the radar, especially if it’s with another soldier.”

Karin snorted. 

“I’m serious, Kurosaki,” Renji warned. “You’ve already got people watching you. Just like I do. Just like the captain does. Ishida probably keeps a whole _squad_ of them busy, only because of who he is. If you go and make that worse by openly defying the Sōtaichō’s standards, you might not like what happens to you. _Or_ the people you love.”

She sighed, wrinkling her nose. It went against every instinct she had to try and hide her feelings—about pretty much anything. But Karin could understand that Renji’s warning was out of concern for her, not meant to restrict her further. 

“It’s still fucked up. Besides, if _I_ can figure out that two people I just met are together, wouldn’t it be really easy for the Onmitsukidō or whoever?” 

Renji shrugged. “Ever heard of an open secret? It’s kinda like that. Like I said—if you stay under the radar and do your job the way you’re supposed to, people can look past it. There’s even a form for officially-recognized fraternization relationships, I think. It’s the minute you start letting it interfere with your duties that it becomes a problem.” 

“This place is so fucking backwards sometimes.” 

Renji didn’t disagree. 

When they reached the barracks, he waved her off with a reminder about soccer the next night. Karin, already dreading the stack of forms on her desk, decided it was better to face it now than later. Besides, she wanted to be finished in time for dinner—her future promotion was bound to ensure she had to stay late for dessert while the old man rambled about how proud he was. 

Despite herself, she felt her lips twitch into a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Term Dictionary_ :
> 
>  _Tobase_ – 飛ばせ – “Fly.” One of Hisaku’s special techniques. This one gives a boost to Karin’s _shunpō_ and other movement techniques, by manipulating the area around her feet with powerful thermal air currents. As a consequence, it also hurts a lot more when she kicks while using this technique.
> 
> * * *
> 
> So there’s Karin’s daily life, more or less. The next chapter will be about Uryū.


	2. Rain Dragon

Early morning at the Eighth worked a little differently than Uryū had heard it did elsewhere. 

For one, there was a good chance much of the division was hungover. Uryū attributed this easily to both the division’s reputation luring in the kind of people who would have been thus inclined to begin with—but also the captain’s terrible example in this respect. 

Lacking any particular desire to make a drunken fool of himself, he’d decided long ago not to participate in any such extracurricular activity. This had the benefit of ensuring that he was able to wake with relative ease. Doing so had been extremely important during his days as twentieth seat, when he’d had to share bathroom facilities with the other male officers in his division. Early morning was about the only time of day one was guaranteed to be left in peace and not have to awkwardly share a sink or wait in line for the showers. 

Given his preference for timeliness, that had been a very good thing. Now, of course, he didn’t have to worry so much—as tenth seat, he had a small, modular living space for his own. He kept it tidy, and as such morning ablutions were the matter of no more than half an hour each day. After them he would, as now, make his way down to the mess. 

Kyōraku-taichō enjoyed food almost as much as he enjoyed drinking, so it was hardly surprising that he’d actually hired certified chefs to make the meals. It was equally unsurprising that Ise-fukutaichō had somehow managed to make that fit the budget. Uryū could complain about a fair few things—if he were of the mind to do so—but how he ate was not one of them. Breakfast here, lunch from Yuzu, and dinner with his slowly-expanding nakama. 

Really, if there hadn’t been a war on the horizon, he’d have counted himself… content. 

Upon entering the offices, he took a detour to the break room—the existence of which was another policy of Kyōraku-taichō’s, one that he actually appreciated—and pulled down one of the many mismatched pots in the cupboards. Sniffing it to make sure it was actually clean, Uryū set it down on the counter and boiled water in a kettle over a surprisingly-modern stove. When the device whistled, he transferred the water to the pot and dropped a tea ball in to steep. Transferring the pot to a small wooden tray, he reached for two cups that matched the pot in color if not design and set them down as well. 

One-handed, he unlocked the door to his office and stepped in, flipping the lights on with his elbow. Ninth Seat Hirose was of course not yet in evidence. Opening one of the drawers of his desk, Uryū tucked the book resting in it under his arm and closed the drawer again. Backing out into the hallway, he followed it to the end. 

The door to the office shared by the captain and vice-captain was already open, as he’d expected. Also rather obvious was the fact that it was only Ise-fukutaichō who’d yet arrived. Lacking a hand to knock with, Uryū cleared his throat. 

She glanced up from her paperwork. “Ishida-san. Please enter.” Setting down her brush, Ise moved one of her stacks of documents to the side so there would be room for the tea tray on the desk. He set it down carefully, then eased himself back into one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk. 

“How are you this morning, fukutaichō?” he inquired politely. 

She hummed a short note, lifting the teapot to pour some for each of them. “The same. And yourself?”

Uryū lifted a shoulder, accepting one of the cups when she held it out in his direction. “Well enough.”

“I noticed that you’d turned in your personnel review forms. I thank you for your timeliness in this matter.” Ise sat back slightly in her chair, somehow without losing the perfect uprightness of her posture. “It is a rarity.”

The arch of her brow was subtle, but Uryū knew exactly what it meant. 

He smiled slightly. “You’re quite welcome, Ise-fukutaichō.” 

For a while, they were both silent, savoring the tea and listening to the division slowly creak to life around them. Though punctuality was not a defining trait of the Eighth, most of them _did_ manage to stumble into the office within an hour or so of the actual start of shift. He’d heard that had been much less likely in the years before Ise was vice-captain. He had no trouble believing it. 

“My patrol took me to the living world the other day,” he said, taking the spine of the book in his hand. “As we’d just been speaking of it, I picked up a copy of the _Genji Monogatari_ , if you’re still interested in reading it.”

Ise’s eyes rounded momentarily. She quickly remembered herself and smoothed out her expression; Uryū knew better than to think he’d simply imagined her surprise. 

“I would be, yes.” She pulled the book towards her when he laid it on the desk, then set it carefully aside. “Actually, I have one for you as well. There really isn’t much on history that far back, but I did manage to find something in the accessible portions of the Central Library.” 

He watched her extract a large volume from one of the shelves behind her. 

“You didn’t have to go to the trouble,” Uryū said, blinking. 

Ise shook her head. “It wasn’t undue trouble. I was already there anyway.” She handed the tome over.

It was heavier than it looked; Uryū’s hand dropped an unexpected few inches when she removed her grip. “Just how old is this?”

“I do not know. No publication date is listed, but it does appear to have existed before conventional preservation methods were in use.” 

The pages were yellowed—he could see that much without even opening it. The cover had scuffs and various other signs of wear over its plain brown surface. Uryū dare not open it while holding tea, so he put it on the chair next to him instead. 

“My thanks, Ise-fukutaichō.”

“And mine to you,” she replied simply.

Uryū sensed the approach of the captain’s reiatsu just before he entered the office. Kyōraku did everything with a sort of deliberate lazy slowness. He’d been told early on that this man was among the most dangerous people in the Seireitei—it wasn’t an inaccurate characterization, but he didn’t act like it most of the time. Even getting him to act halfway serious in a spar was difficult; when he did, it was clear why he was a captain. 

Most of the time, however, it was not.

“What’s this? Nanao-chan and Ishida-kun are having a tea party without me?” Kyōraku visibly _pouted_ , an expression which looked utterly ridiculous on a grown man. 

Uryū rolled his eyes. 

Ise answered crisply. “Ishida-san and I have tea every morning, captain. If you’ve a wish to partake, you should arrive at work in a timely manner, as we do.”

“Yare, yare, Nanao-chan,” Kyōraku said, stepping further into the room and heading towards his desk. “That’s quite the demand.”

“The rest of the division certainly seems to think so,” Uryū muttered into his teacup. 

The sly look Kyōraku gave him from the corner of an eye was confirmation that he’d heard. But the captain took all such things with good humor. 

“That’s cruel, Ishida-kun. Now I have two officers that are mean. Are you sure you aren’t related?” 

“What a ridiculous assertion,” Ise replied, pursing her lips. “Having an appreciation for punctuality is not an inherited trait; it is a trait of character.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. 

Kyōraku looked back and forth between the two of them and sighed. Shaking his head, he settled at his desk, idly glancing through a few of the papers. He obviously had little intent to actually do anything with any of them, but since he was present, Ise might appreciate the opportunity to pressure him into accomplishing something. 

Standing, Uryū bowed briefly and collected the tea tray. “If you will excuse me, fukutaichō—I should return to my office. Taichō.” He acknowledged the now-smiling Kyōraku as well.

Ise nodded. “Very well. If you see Third Seat Enjōji, please inform him that his review paperwork was due yesterday and that if I do not have it today, I will be paying a personal visit to his office.” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

“How are things over there?” Uryū crossed his legs underneath him, resting his hands on his knees. 

Onscreen, Yoruichi sat in a similar way; she was slightly hampered by the fact that Ururu, Jinta, and Tsukabishi were all also attempting to peer at the communication device. Jinta looked quite normal, thankfully, as did Ururu; Tsukabishi, too, showed no sign of the injury he’d sustained a few months before. 

Yoruichi grimaced briefly, then shook her head. “He’s not back yet.” 

There was a pause after she said it—Uryū was getting a better sense for just how much of what was to come relied on Urahara. It was in the way the others reacted to his absence. The way _he_ was beginning to doubt the possibility of successful resistance. He spent every day well aware of the military might of the Gotei 13, but increasingly aware also of its flaws—its exploitable weaknesses. If Urahara was really trapped in Hell, if he’d somehow become one of the Togabito… 

Uryū wanted to refuse to follow that possibility all the way to its logical conclusion; but refusing to think about things was exactly the kind of luxury he couldn’t allow himself right now. His jaw tightened. 

“And Hollow activity?”

She pushed a sigh out of her nose. “It’s definitely picking up. Nothing major, yet—Tessai and the kids have been handling most of it, and what they don’t get to usually goes to the Thirteenth. They’ve posted another shinigami here, but he’s not very good at his job.” Yoruichi crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Kisuke seems to have planned for this,” Tsukabishi added. “He left some notes describing what we should look for as signs that Aizen has figured out how to activate the Hōgyoku. So far it seems as though we’re still a long way off, but this is under the assumption that its awakening is steady and contains no breakthroughs.”

“Which is not the safest assumption with Aizen,” Uryū replied dryly. 

Yoruichi nodded once. “Technically, we’re still on track for ten years total—this is the halfway point. But the truth is… things could change at any moment. I’d expect it before then; it’s just that there’s no way of knowing _when_.”

Uryū pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses slightly. “I don’t know if we’re going to be ready,” he confessed. “I don’t know if _I’m_ going to be ready—I’m not even sure what Urahara-san would have believed qualified.”

He certainly wasn’t anywhere near bankai—he knew that. Yorugen was still being deliberately slow about revealing his shikai techniques. Maybe, if he’d had his Quincy powers in addition, he’d have felt more likely to be useful. But he remembered the feeling of Aizen’s reiatsu. What he had now would not stand against that, and though he pushed himself as hard as he could… 

Yoruichi frowned, more thoughtfully than anything. “I understand it’s frustrating,” she said. “ _Believe_ me, I understand. But remember that you’re not alone. I’m not sure what Aizen will be able to throw at us, exactly, but I do know that he doesn’t think in terms of trust, or teamwork or coordination. So if his strength matches ours, I’m confident we’ll win.”

“And if it exceeds ours?”

She sighed heavily. It wasn’t lost on him that Yoruichi was suddenly in a position she hadn’t expected to occupy. He knew she’d led before—was good at it, even. But there was quite a difference between that and being the _strategic_ center of something this big. Even if only temporarily, Urahara’s disappearance had forced her to try and hold that center. 

“Then we fight really damn hard and hope for the best,” she said grimly. 

Uryū nodded. “Thanks, Yoruichi. I’ll call again next week.”

“Sure thing, kid. Talk to you then.”

* * *

When Rukia had contacted him that morning just before lunch, she’d asked if he had the period free. 

Truthfully, Uryū had about any period free he decided he wanted. Ise-fukutaichō didn’t get on his case about his schedule because he did all of his work on time; Kyōraku-taichō probably could not have cared less if he’d tried. Unless he was on patrol or teaching a drill, he could work basically whenever he wanted. So he’d sent the butterfly back in the affirmative, as well as telling her he’d be happy to make the trip over to the Thirteenth. 

Rukia’s division bordered some of the less-populated area in the Seireitei; it wasn’t difficult to find somewhere to eat that wasn’t crowded. Upon unpacking Yuzu’s bento, he handed the top layer to Rukia. Her eyes lit up; obviously, she knew who’d made it. Fortunately, she’d brought her own utensils, and she split her rice balls with him to compensate. 

They didn’t speak of anything of consequence until they’d settled; there was a riverbank here covered in grass which made for comfortable seating. Uryū had never been one for idle small talk; with Rukia as with a few other people, though, he found he didn’t mind exchanging pleasantries or speculating on the weather. They didn’t need to—perhaps that was why he found it satisfactory to do so anyway.

“Your message indicated that there was something you wanted to tell me,” he said at length. 

Rukia shifted—she didn’t quite seem to be able to find a way to sit comfortably still. The reminder only intensified that; she reached into her sleeve and pulled out an object wrapped in cloth. Without a word, she handed it to him, tilting her chin.

Taking that as indication that he should unwrap it, he did. When the cloth came away, he was left holding a bronze-colored badge about as big as his hand. It had the kanji for thirteen inscribed on it; the clear silhouette of a snowdrop flower lay underneath. 

“You’ve been promoted—to vice-captain. Congratulations.” Uryū looked up from the badge to Rukia; his brows knit when he observed the expression she wore. 

Rather than the pride or happiness he would have expected, she looked… uneasy. There was a deep furrow above the bridge of her nose; the edges of her mouth were uncomfortably downturned. Her body language had not eased, either. 

Uryū, holding onto the badge with one hand, pushed his glasses up with the other. “What’s wrong, Rukia-san?”

He heard the sound when she swallowed thickly; her eyes fell away from him to the smooth bend of the river. “I’m not… I don’t think I should accept.”

He blinked. “Why not?” 

It was obvious that she was capable enough for the position—she had been for quite a while. As he understood it, the only obstacle remaining had been her brother’s reticence to put her in the kind of danger such a position would entail. Clearly, Kuchiki had changed his mind on that front—a move which seemed very much like a vote of confidence to Uryū. But even with that considered, Ukitake surely would not have offered her the spot if _he_ didn’t think she was ready, too. 

She still didn’t look at him; her food went momentarily ignored in front of her. “It’s… the last person to hold that position was… Kaien-sama.”

Uryū knew very little of Kaien Shiba—only that he was indeed the previous fukutaichō of the Thirteenth, and related to Isshin, Kūkaku, and hence the twins. He’d died at some point during his service to the Gotei 13. 

But her tone filled him in a little more. “You feel uncomfortable holding the position he once had.” 

Rukia nodded. 

Uryū considered that. It didn’t seem likely that this was due to the simple fact that Shiba had died. The way she named him conveyed great respect, but also familiarity. So… it might have something to do with the _how_. For a moment, he thought perhaps he shouldn’t ask, but then… surely she would not have invited him here if she was completely opposed to the idea of discussing it with him. 

He wasn’t especially good at this sort of thing. But he would try. 

“Did something happen?” Uryū tried to keep his usual crispness out of the words—this wasn’t an interrogation, or business; or casual conversation, for that matter. 

She nodded again. For a while, there wasn’t any sound aside from the ambient—the calm flow of the river, the slight stirring of the breeze. Uryū didn’t press; instead, he resumed eating at a sedate pace, watching a cluster of red leaves drop from the tree behind her into the river. 

“When I was first adopted into the Kuchiki family,” she started, haltingly, “I didn’t really have any friends. Nii-sama was… distant, and since I’d been pulled from the academy, I wasn’t around Renji anymore, either. I just… got put into this division where I didn’t know anybody, with a brand new last name. I didn’t even really understand what being a Kuchiki would mean for me.”

Uryū thought he might have an idea. 

“No one…” Rukia’s hands tightened on her knees. “No one spoke to me, or treated me like a normal new division member. They all sat away from me whenever they could. But… Kaien-sama was different.”

Rukia’s shoulders lifted as she pulled in a deep breath. “He just… treated me normally. He taught me how to fight, things I hadn’t mastered before nii-sama pulled me out of the academy. Because of him, I made friends with Sentarō-san and Kiyone-san, too. I admired him so much it’s hard to describe. And Miyako-sama, too—Kaien-sama’s wife.”

Uryū swallowed the last bite of his rice ball. He hadn’t seen or heard of a Miyako Shiba in the division, either—he didn’t know everyone there, but he nevertheless suspected some ill fate had befallen her as well. 

“One day, Miyako-sama and her squad were sent out to deal with a Hollow… and she was killed.” Rukia pursed her lips. “Kaien-sama… when he saw what had happened, he wouldn’t even wait for another squad to be formed. He went after the Hollow, and Ukitake-taichō and I followed. We found it… and Kaien-sama asked for permission to engage it by himself.”

He frowned—it wasn’t difficult to guess where this was going. 

“Somehow, it… it took over his body, and attacked me. Ukitake-taichō fought it, but his illness flared up, and I had to…” 

He watched a muscle in her jaw jump when she clenched it. “I killed him. I killed Kaien-sama… and he thanked me for it.” Finally, she lifted her eyes to meet his. 

Uryū swallowed. She wasn’t crying—but she might as well have been. It was a sorrow _that_ profound. He swore he could almost feel it _seeping_ from her—like some invisible, choking cloud. His fingers curled into the fabric of his hakama; he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do or say here. From his point of view, none of the fault in the situation lay with her. If anything, the whole event was misjudgment on the part of other people, with the worst possible result. But he wasn’t sure that saying that would help her any. 

Carefully, Uryū picked up his bento and set it aside, shifting in closer. When they sat directly face to face, her knees a few inches from his, he pulled in a breath. “It sounds to me,” he said quietly, “like you did him a favor.” 

Her lips parted; the furrow between her brows deepened. He shook his head. 

“I mean it. I am certain that Ukitake-taichō would not have attacked Shiba-san if there were any way to separate the Hollow from him. And I am even more certain that someone like you describe Shiba-san to be would not ever have wanted to be the reason that his friends or subordinates came to harm. Under the circumstances, you did what I would have done, as well.” He sighed. “I don’t expect that makes it any easier to bear.” 

“Not really,” she murmured, staring down at the badge he still held in his hand. 

“But,” he continued, “it shouldn’t be easy. I think it’s a good thing that you find it so difficult to think about. That it causes you so much pain.” 

Her head snapped up; the disbelief was too easy to read on her face. 

“I don’t mean that I think it’s good that you’re in pain,” he clarified quickly. “Just that… not everything that turns out to be necessary should be easy— _is_ easy. The way things are… sometimes, killing a comrade, a person we care about, might turn out to be the right thing to do.” It was hard to swallow, even saying the words. But if the situation was as she’d described, they were horrifically true nevertheless. “The fact that it was so difficult—that it bothers you so much—that just means you have a heart, Rukia. And I, for one, am glad you do.”

He hesitated for a moment, but then reached out his gloved hand, unclenching one of hers from its spot at her knee and turning it around so that the palm faced up. “I think the Thirteenth would agree.” 

He pressed the badge into her hand, but her fingers closed over it on their own. 

Yorugen had taught him that the kind of weakness that made doing some necessary things so hard was also a kind of strength. Because it was the same weakness that came from caring about the people around him. It made him more vulnerable, to be sure, but also that much better for it. 

Rukia traced her thumb over the snowdrop. “I don’t know if I’ll be as good a vice-captain as he was,” she said softly. 

“I do,” he replied simply. 

She smiled—the expression wavered, but remained. 

“Thanks, Ishida.” 

He cleared his throat, glancing away. “Of course.” Carefully, he moved back to where he’d been. 

“I mean it,” she said. Her tone was firmer than he’d expected.

Uryū tilted his head sideways. He didn’t think he’d done anything especially significant. He suspected most anyone else would have told her the same thing—at least anyone that knew her at all. 

“When I said it before… after everything five years ago, I didn’t realize what you’d actually done.” 

He stiffened. There was only one thing she could possibly be referring to. 

“It’s not…” He wasn’t really sure what to say. The polite thing was to say _it was nothing_ , that it was unimportant. 

But it wasn’t. 

So he said something true instead. 

“I’d do it again if I had to.” 

Rukia didn’t quite seem to have a response to that; for a while, they finished the food in silence, each processing their thoughts. Uryū dealt with about three reminders a day that he didn’t have his Quincy powers anymore: once when he slid his gloves on in the morning, once during Jinzen, and the last when he spent any time contemplating the oncoming war. Each time, he felt the same distinct sense of loss. A part of himself gone. Lucia asleep forever. But he never _regretted_ it. And he _would_ do it again, if he were presented with the choice a second time. 

“It’s the same, isn’t it?” she asked, drawing his attention. 

He furrowed his brows at her. 

“Necessary, but still painful.” 

He supposed it might be similar, at that. 

She shook her head slowly. “I think I might like being on this end of it even less than the other one.” 

“Don’t feel guilty,” he told her firmly. Uryū adjusted his glasses. “What I did was my choice. You didn’t force me to any of it. I wasn’t obligated—it wasn’t my duty. It was just what I chose.” 

“I know,” she said. It was almost so soft he couldn’t hear her. “And I’m grateful.”

“Then let that be it,” Uryū replied, “and don’t worry about it anymore.”

* * *

“All right everyone; let’s make this quick. The Hollow was spotted north of here.” Uryū glanced down at the denreishinki’s screen, confirming the location again. 

The Senkaimon had put them out in a large city in America—somewhere in the middle of it, apparently. Location wasn’t really an issue; Uryū had discovered quite early on that he suddenly had no problems understanding languages other than the three he’d already known. English was included. Considering the _other_ strange things he encountered on a daily basis, it barely registered as unusual anymore. 

The Fifth Division shinigami behind him—all unseated except for one nineteenth seat—fanned out in formation. Being the highest-ranking officer present, he took point. Unseen by the humans below, they traveled over the urban rooftops, since most of the others weren’t skilled enough to remain permanently aloft with _shunpō_ yet. 

They didn’t return to ground level until they reached what looked like a park. This was, apparently, the location of the Hollow. Though he could definitely sense it nearby, it wasn’t in sight. Frowning, Uryū unsheathed Yorugen, but kept him sealed for the moment. Two hand gestures split his team into separate flanks. Pinpointing the Hollow’s location, he sent three of them to the left and three to the right. 

Making a beeline for the Hollow himself, he found it in what looked like a playground clearing. A child had already collapsed, unconscious under a swing set. Her mother shook her shoulder frantically, completely oblivious to the monster that hovered behind her. 

Uryū whistled sharply, signaling the others, then flashed forward. 

The Hollow, alerted to his presence by the noise, turned from the humans and towards him, swiping at him with a clawed hand. He ducked neatly out of the way; a rush of air billowed his uniform as the claws went by. It was far too slow to touch him; that made it a very good exercise for the other shinigami present, however.

Nineteenth Seat Iwasaki got her flank to the Hollow first. The three shinigami attacked in unison, two with low-level kidō and the officer herself with her zanpakutō. All the hits bounced off the Hollow’s hide, though one of the kidō left a curl of smoke behind. The Hollow roared, diverting its attention to them in just enough time for the other group to come in from its blind side. 

The Hollow thrashed, tripping several of them when it struck with its whiplike tail. It made to crush one of its attackers with the claw—he wasn’t going to regain his feet in time to avoid it. 

Stepping into shunpō, Uryū intervened, putting Yorugen between the Hollow and himself; he caught the blow on the wakizashi’s blade, cutting deep into the pad of the creature’s foot. Iwasaki pulled her subordinate out from the immediate danger zone, setting him back on his feet. 

Uryū, channeling his reiatsu into Yorugen’s blade, shifted his angle and sliced through the Hollow’s limb, taking half its claws off. With his free hand, he pointed at its mask. 

“ _Hadō #1: Shō_.” 

The concussive blast cracked its mask easily; one of the other shinigami saw his chance and finished it off, slicing through the rest and dispersing the creature with a burst of purifying light. 

Shaking the blood from his blade, Uryū resheathed it. Glancing at Iwasaki, he jerked his chin at the human child. “Konsō, please.”

She nodded, rippling her blonde ponytail. “Yes, sir.”

Uryū checked on the others; none were seriously injured. Most looked rather pleased with how the fight had gone. He supposed part of him could understand that—a fight none of them had to be carried away from wasn’t a bad fight. But despite that, his eyes moved to where Iwasaki was talking to the spirit of the girl, killed but not eaten by the Hollow. Her mother, still ignorant of the finality of her fate, was frantically imploring the ambulance dispatcher to get someone there immediately. 

He felt… strangely detached from it. Not as much as his comrades did, clearly. Perhaps that was simply because he knew it didn’t have to be this way every time. It simply wasn’t necessary to accept that people had to die every time a Hollow made an appearance. Or rather… it shouldn’t have been. 

That was the whole point of everything his grandfather had been trying to say. If the Quincy had been here, even just a single one with enough training… how many needless deaths like this could be avoided until the shinigami were able to arrive and purify the Hollow involved? Grimacing, he turned from the scene. 

Maybe, once, that could have been _his_ role. _His_ life. 

But not anymore.

* * *

Dinner that night was a little livelier than usual; it would seem Isshin had invited Matsumoto and Hitsugaya as well. Uryū didn’t particularly mind; the people least comfortable with the whole thing were very obviously the captain and Karin, who both attempted to behave as though they weren’t. 

Thankfully, Yuzu acted as an effective buffer between them, which meant Uryū didn’t have to try. 

Perhaps slightly less-fortunately, this meant that he was, for the moment, the sole focus of Matsumoto’s attention. 

“You look kind of down, Ishida-kun,” she observed with breezy nonchalance. “Girl troubles?” 

He frowned at her; she returned it with a cheeky smile. 

“No,” he replied flatly. But he did drag his thoughts away from the living world outing that afternoon and fix it on the present. 

“Karin tells me you sew,” she continued, apparently satisfied by his answer. She arched a brow at him, popping a mushroom into her mouth. 

He supposed the fact that she was chewing obligated him to answer. But the topic was enjoyable, at least. “I have been… known to do so, yes. Why?”

She shrugged. “She said you sewed pockets onto her shihakushō. I was wondering if you’d be willing to do the same for mine? I’d pay you for it… and for any living world clothes you wanted to make me.” 

The way that was tacked on at the end implied pretty clearly that it was the actual request. Pockets were easy. Entire articles of clothing… well, those weren’t too difficult either, actually. He considered her for a moment with a tailor’s eye, tilting his head to the side and thinking it over with another bite of mackerel. 

“Do you have preferences for particular types of living world garment?” 

She smiled slowly. “Hypothetically… what would you make me?”

Uryū blinked. Setting his bowl down, he reached for the paper napkin at his place setting. He kept a pen in his own pocket; withdrawing it, he pushed the cap off with his thumb. He was so used to sketching out designs that he didn’t really have to think about it—he drew vague shapes to suggest Matsumoto’s general dimensions and went from there. 

“Light blue, I think,” he said, filling in additional lines for a boatneck blouse with a thick ribbon along the collar, tied into a bow on the left shoulder. He dropped the sleeves to the elbows, but kept them fitted; a simple, a-line skirt to the knees completed the thought. 

“No cleavage?” she queried, sounding highly amused. 

Uryū cleared his throat, making an effort not to turn pink. He seemed to have this problem too often for someone with so many female friends. “You have nice collarbones,” he replied matter-of-factly. “But if you’d prefer something else, I can design to specifications. Er… some specifications, anyway.” 

He thought back to an incomprehensible blob and the color purple. Definitely not _any_ specifications. 

Matsumoto blinked at him. For once, when she smiled, it narrowed her eyes. “Actually, I think I like that one just fine.”

“Oh,” said Yuzu, peering over his shoulder. “That’s so pretty! Can you draw one for me?”

Uryū lifted a shoulder. “If you like.”

“Please! And something for Karin, too!”

Karin snorted. “It better not be girly.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Of course not.” 

Uryū returned pen to napkin, and for a moment, he didn’t think of the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Term Dictionary_ :
> 
>  _Nakama_ – 仲間 – Roughly, “circle of friends.” It has a connotation that blurs the lines a bit between friends, colleagues, and family, making it particularly appropriate to describe Uryū’s inner social circle. There isn’t quite an equivalent term in English, so I just went with the Japanese one, since it’s familiar to many fans of anime and manga (and Tropers!) anyhow. 
> 
> _Genji Monogatari_ – 源氏物語 – “The Tale of Genji.” A really old work of Japanese literature from the Heian period (11th Century). Variously called the world’s first novel, the world’s first “modern” (format) novel, the first psychological novel or at least the first novel to still be considered a classic. The plot is honestly kind of ridiculous, when summarized, but it is an _extremely_ well-regarded piece of literature, and not without reason. Fun fact: it was most likely a serial, and most likely a self-insert, of sorts. It was written by a woman named Murasaki Shikibu.
> 
> * * *
> 
> There be chapter two, including some plot development and an important discussion between Uryū and Rukia dealing with both canon things and AU-specific things. 
> 
> Next chapter closes out the series with some stuff from Yuzu, with appearances by… a lot of people, actually.


	3. Second Reverie

By design, the Fourth Division’s barracks building was immediately next to the hospital. It was actually kind of familiar that way, considering her father’s clinic was attached to his house in the third district. Yuzu rolled out of her futon with a little less grace than she would have liked, drawn to wakefulness by habit rather than any specific event or noise. She made the bed back up with practiced motions, re-homing all of her stuffed animals atop the blankets. 

Satisfied with the arrangement, she pottered around the room for a little while, knowing she had a considerable cushion of time before she had to be in for shift change. The soil her bonsai was in looked a little dry, so she went ahead and watered it and her bamboo stalk—a little extra never hurt that one. 

Curling her toes into the tatami underfoot, she reached as far up as she could, then bent down to touch them. With slow, deliberate stretches, she woke her muscles up. Sometimes, she was a little stiff in the morning—probably from the tension she tended to carry around during the day. Being responsible for the health of other people wasn’t exactly low-stress, though she tried not to let it get to her too much. She wouldn’t be of any help to anyone if she was so nervous she panicked, after all. 

Straightening, she rolled her shoulders out and decided a hot shower was in order. It was quite the luxury, really—out in the Rukongai, her house was strange for having amenities like this. But the Seireitei had much more of the technology she vaguely remembered from the living world, and some that was even more advanced. Particularly, her dad had said, medical equipment. It made for a strange blend of elements, to be sure.

Such thoughts occupied Yuzu until she’d finished her breakfast in the mess, at which point she entered the hospital for the start of her shift. Pausing in the staff room to tie up her sleeves so they’d stay out of the way of any examinations or procedures, she put her hair back in short twin tails; they barely brushed her shoulders, but it was still better to keep them clear of her face.

The seventh and eighth seats were typically in charge of the less-busy night shift, so when Yuzu approached the central desks, she wasn’t surprised to see them both there. 

“Good morning, Hanatarō-san,” she said, drawing his attention. 

He blinked at her for a second, then smiled. “Good morning to you, too, Yuzu-san. You’re a little early; we’re still updating all the charts from last night.” He gestured to include Ogidō as well. 

Yuzu’s brows knit. “Did something happen?” The night shift was usually quiet—unless there was an emergency of some kind. Training accidents and the like were much more likely to occur during the daylight hours. 

Ogidō sighed. “Some unseated members of the Eleventh had a little too much to drink last night. It turned into a brawl. Most of them were fine once we’d given them first-aid, but a couple were still belligerent in here. We’ve got property damage forms to fill out, and a couple of them are going to need more work today.” 

Yuzu stepped in to the narrow counter that wrapped around the desk, glancing through a few of the forms that had already been assembled. “They broke one of the life-support units?”

Hanatarō grimaced. “Well… yes. And the window in Room 107.”

She pursed her lips. The Eleventh—for reasons Yuzu sort of understood but vehemently disagreed with—didn’t tend to respect the Fourth in the slightest. There were exceptions, of course; most of their officers didn’t actually give her division much trouble, but the unseated shinigami… 

“I’ll make sure Iemura-san sees this. It’s probably best if he deals with it before Unohana-taichō has to.” 

Better for the Eleventh Division, that was. 

“Any other major updates?” Technically, this was the tenth seat’s job to figure out, but Yuzu didn’t really mind. 

“Not really,” Hanatarō said, shaking his head. “The night was quiet other than that.” 

He handed Yuzu a few more forms, which she sorted into piles by room number, changing out old or redundant forms on the clipboards where necessary, and helping them both enter the data into digital format. Unohana-taichō preferred to keep the records both ways—something Yuzu could see the wisdom in. It also, however, made for more work. 

Hanatarō was swaying on his feet by the time they were done. He’d probably been going for close to twelve hours, by this point. 

“I think I can finish up here, if you two want to get to the mess and then get some sleep.” 

Ogidō nodded gratefully, logging himself out of the computer. Hanatarō looked dubiously at the paperwork remaining. 

“Don’t worry,” Yuzu reassured him. “Masaoka-san will be in soon, and the two of us will be able to finish before the captain arrives.”

“If you’re sure, Yuzu-san.”

She nodded easily; Hanatarō’s expression eased. When he left, she returned her attention to the paperwork. Fortunately, she knew how to fill all these ones out; damage to parts of the hospital wasn’t as uncommon as it probably should have been.

* * *

Half an hour later, when the captain, vice-captain, and third seat arrived for the proper start of shift, Yuzu was done catching up with the backlog. Carrying three data pads, she met them in the staff room. 

“Good morning taichō, fukutaichō, Iemura-san.” Pausing for acknowledgement, Yuzu picked up again afterwards. “Iemura-san, this is all the new information from the night shift. We have two new patients, in 108 and 109; they shouldn’t need anything too difficult in terms of treatment, but they came in with slash wounds, so Ogidō-san thought someone should check them over before they left.” Not everyone in the division was capable of healing large wounds in one session, particularly not on a night with multiple patients. 

Iemura nodded, accepting the tablet from her. 

“Isane-san, you have several appointments today in the afternoon, and it’s the last Friday of the month, so Ukitake-taichō will be in at four as usual. Also, Ayasegawa-san is in 104. He asked for you specifically—I’m not sure if he’s actually hurt or not.” It seemed more like he’d just wanted to speak with her about something, but Yuzu hadn’t pressed the issue. Especially not considering the fact that things tended to run more smoothly with the Eleventh whenever he was around. 

“Oh, I think I know what that’s about. Thanks, Yuzu-san.” Isane accepted her pad as well, exiting the staff room behind Iemura. 

“Unohana-taichō, you have one appointment this morning and Ukitake-taichō’s visit in the afternoon, but otherwise, nothing is currently scheduled.” Yuzu kept the last tablet herself, since she’d be with the captain all day anyhow. 

“I see,” Unohana replied mildly. “Well in that case, let’s proceed, Kurosaki-kun.”

Yuzu nodded firmly—she had learned early on that Unohana far preferred this to bowing or saluting when receiving a direct order. “Yes ma’am.”

* * *

“It’s always more effective to administer painkilling kaidō at the same time as the actual healing spell, but if that’s too difficult—or the pain someone is in causes them to move or thrash too much—it can also be done in tandem with a reiatsu restoration,” Unohana said, demonstrating as she spoke. 

The patient she worked on was in pretty bad shape—apparently he’d been part of the confrontation the night before, but his fellow division members had missed him only afterwards. Yuzu imagined that waking up from unconsciousness in a pool of one’s own blood, missing two fingers, was extremely unpleasant. 

He did not, indeed, seem to be taking it particularly well. Though that might also have something to do with the fact that Unohana-taichō had—very politely—ordered him to stop squirming if he wanted his fingers reattached. Her captain had that effect on people, but it was surprisingly easy to get used to that thread of steel she had. Or at least Yuzu thought so.

The captain demonstrated the technique, lighting one of her hands with the light blue kidō used for bone fusion and the other with the soft yellow of a local anesthetic. Yuzu, having used a sanitization kaidō to sterilize both the digits and their stumps, now held the ring finger and corresponding knuckle together while Unohana worked. 

It still amazed her every time her captain healed—wounds that could have been fatal or permanent were wiped away with the deliberate care of a true professional, and the ease of the consummate expert. Her own efforts were clumsy by comparison, but she was learning. Or at least, Unohana-taichō never indicated dissatisfaction with her progress. 

“Kurosaki-kun—please reattach the remaining finger.” Unohana spoke calmly.

The patient, on the other hand, looked at her dubiously. She couldn’t really blame him for that—her appearance did not inspire confidence, she was sure. Yuzu hadn’t been all that conscious of her youth until the first time someone had remarked that she seemed young for a nurse. Considering they’d then requested someone with more experience, well—she did occasionally catch herself trying to compensate for it, now. 

Swallowing her unease, Yuzu nodded and switched places with her captain. She’d never reattached a body part before, but it was clearly possible. If Unohana-taichō was asking her to do it, she had to believe she _could_ , right? 

Carefully, Yuzu directed the kaidō from her center out to her arms, one at a time. She’d mastered using _either_ the bone-fusing or anesthetic kidō, but both at the same time was tricky. According to Karin, wounds she healed still tended to _itch_ uncomfortably, and that was when they were only surface level. She wasn’t sure quite how this was going to go. 

Leaning forwards, she hovered her left hand—rose-gold in color—over the injury first. She saw the patient’s muscles relax; only then did she bring her right hand in as well. Trying to maintain two kaidō at once was even trickier than double-casting a combat kidō, because they were sustained longer and didn’t have spells to focus them. She effectively had to _want_ two things at once, strongly enough to actually affect the reiatsu.

The slight grinding sound of the bones coming back together was unpleasant, but apparently painless, since Nagai-san—the patient—didn’t react overmuch. He did squirm, though. At least until Unohana-taichō met his eyes over Yuzu’s shoulder. 

The trickiest part was switching from the bone-fusion kidō to the flesh-knitting one in mid-procedure. Yuzu pursed her lips, swallowing hard. Slowly, the color in her right hand flickered from blue to magenta, holding steady after a few seconds; Yuzu redirected it outwards. Muscle and skin were easier to deal with than bone; Nagai-san would have only a small scar on his last finger to show for the injuries. 

Exhaling heavily, she leaned back. “Please move your fingers for me?” she requested, half-smiling. 

Nagai opened and closed his fist a few times; both fingers looked to be back in working order. It wasn’t until he left that she allowed herself to actually relax a little, though. Turning her eyes to her captain, she frowned slightly. 

“I left a scar.”

Unohana raised one eyebrow, just a little. “If he did not wish to have scars, he should not have been so foolish. He has a working finger, thanks to you.” 

Yuzu supposed he did.

* * *

Her arms trembled under the weight of the one-handed blow her captain delivered; Yuzu had to brace Hasuhime in both hands just to have a hope of withstanding it. Holding it there for more than a few seconds at a time was simply impossible. 

Stepping out from under the block, she disengaged and thrust forward, trying to catch Unohana’s shoulder with her zanpakutō’s spear-point. Fluidly, her captain avoided the strike; Yuzu recovered quickly—in just enough time to fend off another heavy slash. The rings on her shakujō jangled discordantly. 

Her breath shuddered in her lungs. “ _Hado #31: Shakkahō_!”

Unohana twisted almost impossibly, the kidō passing her right by; Yuzu jumped away in the tiny sliver of time that gave her. This time, she channeled the same spell through Hasuhime, shaping it into a lash instead of an orb. Using both hands, Yuzu swung her zanpakutō, cracking the kidō whip on the end forward. 

Unohana-taichō disappeared. 

“ _Bakudō #39: Enkōsen_!”

Yuzu struck the ground with Hasuhime’s pole; the shield spell surrounded her form all sides in a perfect sphere. Just in time—a booming crack alerted her to the fact that her captain had struck it behind her. The kidō’s surface spiderwebbed under the sheer force of the blow. Yuzu prepared a _raikōhō_ in her free hand, whirling and releasing it when the _enkōsen_ buckled and shattered. 

It went off point-blank; Yuzu felt her feet lose traction on the ground. The impact pushed her back a meter or so, heat from the spell stinging her face even at that distance. Unohana, directly in the path of it, stood nevertheless unharmed as the smoke cleared away. 

Well—not entirely. The captain lifted an arm, observing with nonchalance that the sleeve of her white haori had been scorched. Half smiling, she launched herself forwards too fast to be tracked, swatting aside Yuzu’s attempt at a block like it was nothing at all and laying Minazuki’s sealed blade gently at her neck. 

“I yield,” Yuzu said immediately. 

Unohana nodded, her smile mild. “That was well-done, Kurosaki-kun.” 

Yuzu thought that was very much an overstatement, considering she’d been fighting not to die the entire time—not that her captain would actually have _killed_ her, of course. But nevertheless, she’d been desperate from the moment they’d started; this had been the tenth and longest exchange of the match.

“I mean it,” Unohana said with that quiet firmness that meant it was better not to argue. “You are learning to react more quickly and think ahead. It is not a shortcoming that your power is less than mine—you are very young, and I am not.” 

Sighing softly, Yuzu nodded. “Thank you, taichō. I only… I know that war is coming soon, and I want to be prepared for it.”

Unohana gestured to her, and the two of them headed back inside. Her captain graciously waited for Yuzu to change uniforms and freshen up—she’d sweated right through her shihakushō. When she re-emerged, they climbed the stairs to the captain’s office, placed above the bustle of the main hospital levels, though not so far away that she could not be aware of the goings-on. 

The table towards the center of the room was their preferred spot for lunch; it looked like Isane had already come and gone today. Yuzu laid out her food carefully, conscious of the fact that her captain was extraordinarily graceful in everything she did and not wanting to look too clumsy by comparison. 

“No one is ever prepared for war,” Unohana said once they were both comfortable. “It is admirable to wish to make oneself stronger, especially for the sake of others, but when battle comes, none here will be truly ready for it.”

Yuzu considered that. Lifting a rice ball to her mouth, she took a bite and set it back down, swallowing before she replied. “But… all the training everyone’s doing…?”

Unohana, delicately returning her bowl to the table, picked up her teacup. “Will help, I am sure,” she replied evenly. “It is difficult to describe what I mean to someone who has not yet seen it for themselves. In any case, it is not something you can do anything about—so I recommend you continue to do what you can.”

“Yes, taichō.”

“But there is one thing, Kurosaki-kun,” Unohana continued. 

Yuzu lifted her eyes. Her captain regarded her with a solemn expression, frowning faintly. “Be mindful, in your preparations. Until the nature of your shikai is clear, you should take care not to publicize its abilities. It is better if most people simply believe that all you do is reshape kidō. That alone is strange, but acceptably so.”

Yuzu bit her lip. “But that’s not all it does,” she pointed out. 

Unohana inclined her head. “That is true. But what you _have_ done—it is better that it remains secret. You know about the forbidden kidō techniques, do you not?”

“ _Jikanteishi_ , _Kūkanten’i_ , and the _Gisei_ class of Hadō,” Yuzu replied. Her extra study with Kozu-sensei at the academy had put her in contact with the information, though of course not the techniques themselves. 

“Yes. More generally, any technique manipulating space, time, or the bounds of reality is forbidden. It is difficult to determine exactly what your zanpakutō does, considering the limited instances under which you have accessed the ability. But it is not impossible that, in healing that child, you somehow altered the flow of time.” Unohana caught Yuzu’s eyes with her own and held them. 

“Under the circumstances, it is better that as few people as possible are aware of it.”

“Should I…” Yuzu hesitated, clasping her hands together in her lap. “Should I stop training with it? Just in case?” 

The captain was quiet for some time. Eventually, though, she shook her head. “I do not think you should, no. You are right to suggest that the training the Gotei 13 undergoes now is important. You should not neglect yours. But you must understand that it is your choice to make. And by no fault of your own, it is a choice that carries a risk either way.” 

Either she wasn’t as strong as she could be because she stopped trying to train her shikai, or she risked censure and punishment for using forbidden techniques. Yuzu swallowed. 

“I almost wish Hasuhime had some other power,” she said, shaking her head. But if she had, what would have become of Jinta? It had helped someone, that she could do what she did. That had to be enough. 

“Some swords are difficult,” Unohana said knowingly. “Often, their powers are not what we would have wished for, if we could have chosen ourselves. There are many captains who would tell you as much.” Her implication was clear: but they were _captains_ all the same. 

“Nevertheless, I advise you to train every skill you have, no matter how challenging it is. One thing I _can_ tell you about real battle is that there is no honor involved. There is no line between what is right and what is wrong, between which techniques are permissible and which are not. Not when life is at stake.” 

“But…” Yuzu pursed her lips. She wondered about that. It seemed that there should be lines, even in battle—things that no good person would resort to. 

Maybe this was the part of war that she couldn’t yet understand. 

She hoped not.

* * *

“Ukitake-san. Please, this way.” Unohana-taichō led the four of them to one of the larger examination rooms. 

Kiyone and Sentarō remained in the waiting room as usual—Yuzu was pretty sure she could hear them arguing over which one of them worried more about the captain. She stifled her smile. 

Given the severity of Ukitake’s condition, and the fact that it required periodic treatments of a sustained nature, Yuzu usually assisted both Unohana and Isane with the procedures. They had her do small things, of course; but, as she learned, they gradually had her take over more and more of the lower-level kidō involved. Out of deference to his rank in addition to the difficulty of the work needed, Unohana would always be his primary healer, of course. But he seemed to accept Yuzu’s presence with his customary good nature. 

They were about to enter when Masaoka, the tenth seat, half-ran down the hall after them. “Ah, taichō!”

The quartet drew to a halt. For about five seconds, Yuzu feared that she’d accidentally double-booked the captain’s time, but that was clearly not the case. 

Following Masaoka-san was someone Yuzu had only met twice—Kuchiki-taichō, captain of her sister’s division. 

Upon realizing what must be going on, Kuchiki blinked. “My apologies, Unohana-taichō. I did not realize you were otherwise occupied. I will return at a later time.” 

Yuzu’s eyes narrowed slightly. She couldn’t think of any reason for him to be here unless he needed medical attention, but he was doing a very good job of not showing it if so. Perhaps it was some other matter. 

“That won’t be necessary, Kuchiki-san,” Unohana replied. “Kurosaki-kun can address whatever issue you may have at this time.” She sounded like she knew exactly what the ‘issue’ was, for that matter. 

“Me?” Yuzu echoed. 

To his credit, Kuchiki didn’t look half as surprised as she felt, though she swore his brows furrowed for a moment. 

“Yes, you,” Unohana repeated, amusement coloring the edge of her tone. “And as a member of the Fourth Division, she will be exceptionally discreet, is that not so?”

Yuzu had no idea what was going on, but she nodded her head. “Yes, taichō.” Not sure which of them to address herself to, she chose a word that applied to both of them. 

After a tense—for her anyway—moment, Kuchiki nodded, turning to enter one of the other exam rooms. Yuzu handed her tablet off to Isane, since it had Ukitake’s data on it; following Kuchiki in, she closed the door behind both of them. 

“So… what can I do for you, Kuchiki-taichō?” Yuzu folded her hands behind her, tipping her head to the side. 

Part of her was still scared more or less witless by him, but apparently that was a normal reaction to have. She tried not to let it bother her too much—but Yuzu was used to being able to get a read on what someone else was feeling by watching their actions and their faces. Kuchiki didn’t make that easy; she found it unnerving. 

By way of reply, he shrugged out of the left side of his shihakushō. Yuzu sucked in a breath. _How_ was he making no indication of pain? His arm was broken in at least three places, all of them compound fractures that had broken his skin. The same side of his body had been sliced near to ribbons; though someone had applied bandages, they’d soaked nearly all the way through. She could see the lines of many small, deep cuts. 

It occurred to her that he must have changed uniforms after acquiring the wounds, because otherwise it would be shredded and bloody as well. Why he’d bothered instead of coming straight here, she couldn’t even guess. 

Immediately, Yuzu ran the water in the sink, scrubbing her arms down and snapping on a fresh pair of gloves. Leaving the tap on, she took down a shallow tub for water and filled it, keeping the temperature hot enough to steam. She hoped she had enough reiatsu left to handle this; her practices with the captain tended to leave her drained, and she hadn’t yet fully recovered from that. 

Reminding herself that Kuchiki would likely not appreciate her being frantic or too hurried about this, she kept her movements brisk and clipped; as efficient as she could make them. The obvious question burned in the back of her mind, but considering the captain had made a point of her discretion, she figured she probably ought not to ask it—at least not out of simple curiosity. 

Setting the basin on the end of the counter, Yuzu swung over a small table on a metal arm so that it was comfortably next to him. “Um… can you move that, or…?”

Wordlessly, he lifted his broken limb and let it rest on the cool metal. He was still bleeding from it, but she was actually glad no one had interfered with this one; compound fractures were serious business, even for the Fourth. One that had started to set badly was even worse. She decided to deal with it first, since it seemed to be the most pressing problem.

“H-how long ago did you break it?” Yuzu made an effort to swallow her nerves—this was more serious than anything she’d previously treated herself. 

Part of her wanted to go see if Isane could switch with her; at least then her captain could guide her through what she was doing instead. But that was foolish—she’d been given this job; it seemed important that she do it. Even if both the task and the patient daunted her.

He glanced at the timepiece on the wall. “About an hour.” 

An _hour_?! He’d walked around like this for an hour?

“And, um… how exactly did you sustain the injury?”

She could feel his eyes boring into her—she’d swear it. 

“Is that medically necessary information?” His tone was eminently neutral—she thought she detected a thread of disapproval anyway. 

Taking in a deep breath, Yuzu looked up and met his stare. “Actually… yes. The more I understand about this wound, and the others, the better I’ll be able to do at healing it. I will run diagnostic kidō to be sure, but if I know what I’m looking for, I’m more likely to find it. And… if I know what was in the environment at the time you hurt yourself, I’ll know which kinds of infection to specifically protect against—which is a concern since this wound has been open for an _hour_.” She pursed her lips, feeling them pull down. 

He blinked slowly at her. “I was training. Ordinarily, both my shikai and bankai do not cut within a certain radius of my person. I have been attempting to reduce that radius. The cuts are the result of a failure to do so.”

He didn’t show it, but… she suspected that was not easy to admit. 

“And your arm?” Yuzu gentled her tone.

“An ill-considered strike with hakuda.”

Her eyes rounded. She didn’t want to know what he’d tried to punch that had nearly shattered his whole arm, but she did make a note to check for fractures in his knuckles as well. 

“Okay, um… was this outside?”

He shook his head. “One of the containment domes.” 

Yuzu nodded. With both hands, she passed a diagnostic spell over him, finding that, indeed, there were smaller, hairline fractures in his arm from knuckles to shoulder. Reiatsu restoration came first; she was going to need the help of his own energy to have a hope of fully healing all of these injuries. 

“I’m going to use an anesthetic kaidō with the others, but _please_ let me know if I’m causing you any pain.” Clearly, he preferred not to show it, based on his actions—but it really wasn’t like she was going to tell anyone. 

She was especially careful at the point where she had to actually cut him with a scalpel to fit his bones back in properly; even then he gave no indication that it hurt. She _hoped_ that was because her anesthetic was working properly, but she accepted that there was really no way to be sure. Yuzu chose to focus on the task, being as careful as possible just in case. 

“You seem to be doing well here.” 

Yuzu almost jumped when he spoke; she hadn’t been expecting it. Fortunately, she held it together, and his bone continued to knit back in place normally. 

“Um… yes, I think so.”

“You are Unohana-taichō’s apprentice?”

She hummed an agreement, still not looking up. Switching back to the diagnostic kaidō, she confirmed that the bones were repaired before moving on to the sinew and skin. “I’m her ninth seat, yes. She has taught me a great deal.”

Yuzu heard a rustle of fabric; she imagined it was Kuchiki-taichō nodding. 

“I can see why you chose it.”

“Oh, um… I think I would have liked it in the Sixth as well; Karin speaks highly of it.” This wasn’t the kind of thing captains got offended over, was it? It was just a normal part of the recruitment process, she thought. 

He didn’t _seem_ to take any offense; she relaxed considerably. 

“I’m going to have to take those bandages off now,” she informed him, gesturing to them. His arm was fixed, if still a little bloody; it was more urgent that she see to the rest of the wounds first, though. 

With a pair of medical shears, she sliced through the gauze wrapping, peeling them carefully away. It really must have been an accident with his zanpakutō; countless tiny little cuts had nearly shredded the area over his ribcage. Yuzu hissed sympathetically, disposing of the gauze. 

“It actually might be best if you lay back for this,” she advised. 

Kuchiki complied without argument. Yuzu stepped in to get at the wound, passing another diagnostic over the area just to be sure. But it looked fine other than the slices; the cuts were clean, and he hadn’t managed to nick any ribs. She’d seen Senbonzakura’s shikai before—there was no doubt in her mind that it could have been much worse. 

“I guess even the captains are training hard,” Yuzu observed. 

She wasn’t quite aware she’d said it out loud until he turned his head to regard her flatly. 

“Um… sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just—” She sighed. At some point in her life, she’d like to go a day without feeling like she’d accidentally stuck her foot in her mouth. 

“I hope you are correct,” he replied simply. 

Yuzu swallowed. Swapping kidō again, she set to work on the wounds. It was a bit tedious, closing all of them separately; she didn't trust her skill quite enough to attempt to heal multiple cuts at once, though. Fortunately enough, these left no scars behind.

When she was done, she stepped back, rolling her gloves off and replacing them. She politely turned away while he cleaned off the blood and reset his shihakushō in place—Yuzu used the time to fill out the necessary forms, describing the nature and extent of the injuries as well as the procedure she had used to heal them. She left out the part where there was awkward small talk involved. Though… it was kind of weird that he’d even bothered. 

Then, of course, she realized that even before that, she’d basically _told off_ a captain of the Gotei 13 for letting his injuries sit for too long. Belatedly, her face heated—she was turning red, she knew it. 

The forms didn’t last _quite_ long enough to assuage her embarrassment; she didn’t make eye contact when she asked for his signature. Only when he handed the clipboard back to her did she find the wherewithal to speak again. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

“I believe that is what I should be saying to you,” he replied; this time she _definitely_ didn’t imagine the subtle eyebrow furrow. 

She shook her head. “No, um… I mean, you’re… you got hurt because you’re training, and you’re training because… because you have to protect the rest of us, when Aizen comes. So… that’s what I’m thanking you for. Doing that, for those of us who aren’t strong enough.”

“There is no need.”

“I know,” she said, offering a smile. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

Kuchiki considered that for a moment, then nodded. 

“You are welcome.”

* * *

She felt _slightly_ guiltier than normal when she showed up to the SWA meeting that night. The meetings were held in the Kuchiki manor, after all—and it wasn’t entirely clear to Yuzu that they really had permission to be there. Of course, Rukia approved, but she technically didn’t own the house, so… 

Yuzu told herself that since it was held in a secret room the SWA had apparently built in the manor a while back, they probably weren’t actually bothering anyone. 

By the time she and Karin made it to the meeting, most everyone else was already present. It wasn’t a particularly large club; mostly it consisted of female officers of tenth seat and above, though that wasn’t an official policy. Yuzu could see how lower seats might be intimidated; they did have nearly _every_ female officer of any standing. 

It was actually quite troubling—how few that amounted to. Herself, Isane, and Unohana from the Fourth were the division most represented. Suì-Fēng from the Second, Hinamori from the Fifth, Karin and Shirogane from the Sixth, Ise from the Eighth, Rangiku from the Tenth, Yachiru from the Eleventh, Nemu from the Twelfth, and Rukia and Kiyone from the Thirteenth rounded them out. That was, on average, one woman from each division. 

Still, the upside was that the small size of the organization made it feel cozy and enjoyable. 

“Zu-chan, Ri-chan!” Yachiru, as usual, gravitated immediately towards them. 

She suspected Yuzu was carrying sweets. 

She was usually right about that. 

Yuzu parted with the treats willingly enough; Karin was guarding the other bag of homemade candy, which would go between the other dozen people present. Rukia and Kiyone quickly waved them over; they sat just as Ise brought the meeting to order. 

“All right everyone, thank you for attending this evening. As we have several items on the docket for today, it would be best if we got started promptly.”

The serious vice-captain’s words were somewhat diminished in effect by the fact that Yachiru was loudly crunching hard candies beside her. Yuzu winced. They really weren’t meant to be eaten like that. 

After taking roll, Ise moved them to the first item for consideration: what, exactly, they were going to do for their next fundraiser. 

“As most of you are aware, our last effort met with… mixed results. I suggest we stay _away_ from any suggestions that involve photos of people this time. Especially people who would not necessarily _consent_ to be photographed.” She seemed to be frowning at Kiyone, Nemu, and Yachiru specifically. 

Yuzu had no idea what that was all about; but she wasn’t sure the wanted to know. Rangiku coughed; she was obviously trying to smother a laugh. 

“I still say you should have let me do it,” Suì-Fēng said flatly. “No one would have known until they were in print.”

“That’s not…” Ise sighed. “Regardless, aside from the sets going to reprint, we’re out of luck with that idea. So we need something else to do. Does anyone have any suggestions?”

Tearing her eyes from the alarming rate at which Yachiru was inhaling her candy, Yuzu offered an idea. “How about a bake sale or something? We could make food items from different districts in the Rukongai—and I have a list of recipes from the living world as well.”

There were a few thoughtful looks. Ise shook her head, glancing sidelong at Yachiru. 

“I’m afraid there’s no reason to believe anything we made would get to the point of being sold,” she pointed out. 

That was… fair. 

“Oh! I know!” Rangiku bounced out of her seat with enthusiasm. “Why don’t we sell clothes? Living world styles? I bet they’d be popular.”

“Well… we have passed a resolution to promote the inclusion of living world culture into our activities,” Ise said slowly, “but where would we get them from?”

“Ishida makes them,” Rangiku answered cheerfully. “And these two—” she appeared suddenly behind Karin and Yuzu, throwing an arm over their shoulders. “Or this one—” she pinched Rukia’s cheeks playfully from behind—“could probably convince him to help us out, right?” 

“He’s not a one-man factory, Rangiku,” Karin said, rolling her eyes. “Besides, shouldn’t this be something _we_ do?”

Yuzu covered her mouth with a hand when Rangiku sighed theatrically and dropped back into her seat. She doubted the idea had been meant all _that_ seriously; still, it would have been a good one if they could reliably make the items themselves. But it would probably be too expensive to buy them, and a hassle to get them moved. 

“How about… trading cards?” Isane suggested tentatively. “Of the officers or something? The press made a lot of money off the recruitment issue—I think people like learning more about us.”

Ise pushed her glasses up. “Yes, but wouldn’t that involve photographs?”

“Unless we drew them,” Hinamori put in. 

“I’m… not sure how much better that would be, in terms of getting people to agree,” Rukia put in, glancing towards the door. 

“We could hold a sports tournament,” Karin said, folding her hands behind her head. “Charge people to enter their teams of however many, charge for refreshments during, that kind of thing. And if we wanna involve living world culture, we could do living world games.”

Ise looked thoughtful. “Do you think enough people would want to participate?”

Karin shrugged. “I dunno. Renji’s been bugging me to try and find teams to play soccer against—I’d guess that the Sixth would have some people interested in other sports, too. Maybe it’s different for other divisions.”

That prompted a flurry of discussion. Whether the Fourth would be needed in case of injury, what kinds of games and sports to include, which types of food would be best for the concessions, and so on. By the time the meeting was adjourned, they weren’t _really_ any closer to deciding on anything, but Yuzu’s stomach hurt from all the laughing she’d been doing. 

For now, that seemed like payment enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Term Dictionary_ :
> 
>  _Jikanteishi_ – 時間停止 – “Temporal Stasis.” A forbidden kidō spell, used to freeze time in a specific location.
> 
>  _Kūkanten’i_ – 空間転位 – “Spatial Displacement.” A forbidden kidō spell used to teleport everything in one area to another, including other active kidō.
> 
>  _Gisei Hadō_ – 犠牲破道 – “Sacrificial Way of Destruction.” A class of kidō forbidden by the Central 46 that relies for power on the user sacrificing part of themselves to complete the spell, usually with devastatingly-powerful effects.
> 
> * * *
> 
> And there’s the last chapter. For anyone who’s curious, the chapter names were derived from the literal kanji readings of the names of the POV characters. So Karin (夏梨) is “summer pear tree,” Uryū (雨竜) is “rain dragon,” and Yuzu(ki) (夢乙) is “second reverie,” though the same characters could be read as “strange vision/dream.” 
> 
> Anyway. This concludes the interlude between _The Three-Body Problem_ and the Winter War fic, which I’m calling _Catastrophe Theory_. I’m really looking forward to writing a longer story again; but I’ve definitely also enjoyed the opportunity to dig into some of the cast a little more. _Catastrophe_ will hopefully have a bit of both; it’s not quite as compressed in time as _The Butterfly Effect_ , after all. 
> 
> I will be taking a few days to plan it, most likely; I’m not sure exactly when I’ll be able to start posting. The arc it corresponds to is _long_ (thanks, Executive Meddling), and the fic will likely be long as well. It’ll cover all the Aizen stuff in one go (so Arrancar, Fake Karakura Town, and Deicide arcs). 
> 
> Forewarned is forearmed: I will be killing characters. Some of my choices might surprise you. I appreciate a certain (smallish) degree of realism, and getting through a conflict against a villain _that_ threatening without any major ally deaths is ridiculous, especially when Aizen’s army is built up to be such a major threat.


End file.
